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MR.  NOBLE’S  POEM 


BEFORE 


THE  HOUSE  OF  CONVOCATION 


OF 


I 

(Triniti)  CoTUflf, 


1  857. 


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am  f . 


A  POEM, 


DELIVERED  BEFORE 


THE  HOUSE  OF  CONVOCATION 


OF 


®rinit|r  (ff-olltg*, 


Wednesday,  July  15,  1857. 


'  <“ 


b- 


BY  THE  REV.  LOUIS  L.  NOBLE,  M.  A. 

RECTOR  OF  TRINITY  CHURCH,  FREDONIA,  N.  Y. 


HARTFORD: 

PRESS  OF  CASE,  LOCKWOOD  AND  COMPANY. 

1857. 


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JMicntiott, 

To 

The  Rev.  A.  F.  OLMSTED, 

0!  Society  Hill,  S.  C. 


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I 


■ 


POEM. 


I. 

Far  away  in  fair  New  England,  on  the  gentle  sloping  hills, 
Lived  Colonus  in  the  dwelling  deep  embow’d  in  maple 

shades. 

Round  it  lay  the  grounds  paternal,  lilied  ponds,  and  pebbly 
rills  : 

Pines,  and  drooping  elms,  and  orchards,  folded  in  the 

grassy  glades. 

Early  was  he  wedded  to  the  fairest  of  New  England’s 

maids  : 

Love  and  holiness  of  heart  she  brought  him  on  the  marriage 
day: 

Gentleness  of  spirit  was  the  jewel  in  her  glossy  braids  : 
Rosy  faces,  silvery  voices,  round  the  table,  out  at  play, 
Made  the  year  melodeous,  blooming,  made  the  months  the 
month  of  May. 


II. 

When  the  snow-drifts  from  the  pastures  melted  in  the  April 
rain, 

In  their  whiteness  lay  the  fleecy  flocks  upon  the  flowery 

green  ; 

July  heard  the  mowers  in  the  meadows,  saw  the  yellow 
grain ; 

August  prop’d  the  boughs ;  September  shook  them  of  their 

crimson  sheen ; 


6 


At  the  fireside,  in  the  garner,  winter  sang  the  golden 

mean ; 

Quiet  Sundays  listen’d  to  the  honey’d  hive,  and  cooing  dove, 
To  the  sounding  steeple,  lofty  poplars  peeping  out  between, 
Calling  households  up  to  worship,  and  the  saving  word  of 
love, 

And  the  poor  and  weary  to  the  hearing  of  the  home  above. 

III. 

On  the  mountains,  near  the  azure,  airy  lines  of  beauty  lay ; 
Down  upon  the  ancient  forests  cliffs  of  hoary  granite 

frown’d ; 

O’er  their  shaggy  bosoms  wander  calm  and  tempest  night 
and  day  ; 

In  their  ragged  chasms  torrents  white  and  angry  whirl 

and  bound  ; 

Through  a  rocky  gorge,  terrific,  rough,  a  stately  river 

wound, 

Glassing  in  its  lucid  blackness  scowling  crag  and  evergreen ; 
Moving  with  majestic  stillness  through  the  solitude 

'  profound; 

Sweeping  through  the  fields  in  graceful  windings,  —  the 
broader  scene, 

Endless  brightness, — soothing,  endless  music  to  the  day 
serene. 


IV. 

Blowing  from  the  blue  Atlantic,  breezes  fann’d  the  balmy 
morn ; 

Scatter’d  bloom  and  pollen ;  sprinkled  moisture  on  the 

grass  and  flowers ; 

Breath’d  refreshing  round  the  reapers  ;  cool’d  the  workers  in 
the  corn  : 

Lights  and  shadows  play’d  upon  the  clover  in  the  leafy 

bowers, 


7 


Deftly  weaving  there  their  dapple  carpet  through  the 

sunny  hours : 

Softly  silken  mists,  the  mountain’s  shining  flocks,  went  up 
on  high  ; 

Creeping  round  the  waterfalls  and  ledges,  where  the 

hemlock  towers ; 

Leaving  snowy  locks  upon  the  pointed  spruces, — passing  by 
Pinnacle  and  peak  to  pasture  on  the  sunshine  in  the  sky. 

Y. 

Blowing  from  the  blue  Atlantic,  bringing  murmurs,  spreading 
motion, 

Breezes  roll’d  the  billows  from  the  far  horizon  to  the  shore : 
Rocky  headlands  met  them,  beat  them,  boldly  beat  them  back 
to  ocean ; 

Field  and  woodland  feel  the  angry  conflict,  vales  resound 

the  roar : 

When  the  green  battalions  charged  the  precipices  steep 

and  hoar, 

Rushing  on  their  solid  bucklers,  worn  from  many  an  ancient 
year, 

Smiting  hard  their  rugged  helmets,  moveless,  firm 

forevermore, 

Bravely  crag  and  cliff  received  them,  each  upon  his  granite 
spear ; 

Pierc’d  them,  toss’d  them  into  brightness,  plung’d  them  into 
blackness  drear. 

VI. 

Where  the  castled  gates  were  tumbled  in  the  tide,  a  shatter’d 
heap, 

Bursting  on  the  hollow  gloom  and  terror  of  the  hidden 

night, 

Far  into  the  horrid  caverns  rush’d  the  lions  of  the  deep, 
Flashing  with  phosphoric  glory,  shaggy,  fleec’d  with 

sparkling  light : 


8 


Hark,  redoubling  thunders  !  See  the  carnage  of  the  billowy 

fight ! 

See  the  light-wing’ d  surf  upon  the  reef! — upon  the  shoals 
abreast  the  land ! 

Tossing  sheaves  of  briny  splendour,  twisting  jewel’d  wreaths 

of  white, 

Swiftly  wheel  the  crested  squadrons  green  and  lustrous  to 
the  strand : 

Lo,  they  perish  !  in  their  glory  perish,  on  the  trembling  sand  ! 

VII. 

Thus  in  view  of  mountain  sunsets,  and  the  booming  breakers’ 
foam, 

Lapp’d  in  strong  and  beauteous  nature,  bosom’d  in  the 

bounteous  year, 

Lay  that  old  New  England  Homestead,  stood  the  brown 
paternal  home, 

Ever  to  his  fathers  precious,  ever  to  Colonus  dear.  > 

From  a  restless  spirit,  or  ambition,  what  has  he  to  fear  ? 

Generations  labour’d  on  those  pleasant  acres  ;  would  not 
he  ? 

Cheerful,  happy  in  the  present,  hopeful  of  the  future, 

here,. 

Marks  of  noble  patience  left  they,  from  the  mountains  to 
the  sea : 

Would  not  he,  or  they,  work  on  content,  brave-hearted, 
fearless,  free  ? 


VIII. 

“  Would  or  would  not,”  was  no  question  with  Colonus. 
Home,  with  him, 

Was  no  mere  convenience,  soulless,  hollow  shell  to  turn 

the  shower ; 

Wood  and  stone  to  ward  the  wind  and  sunshine,  warm  a 
chilly  limb  ; 

Transient  pleasure’s  cold  pavilion,  passion’s  perishable 

bower ; 


< 


9 


No  mere  hostelry  to  feed  and  sleep  in,  for  an  idle  hour  ; 

Place  of  sale  and  barter,  lightly  to  be  bought  itself,  and 
sold  ; 

Not  a  castle  whence  to  sally,  in  the  war  for  place  and 

power  ; 

In  the  graceless  contest  with  the  hard  and  heartless  world  for 
gold  ; 

Where  to  doze  in  luxury,  in  poverty  to  sour  or  mould. 

IX. 

“Would,  or  would  not,”  was  no  question  with  Colonus. 
Home,  with  him, 

Was,  in  sooth,  no  mere  convenience,  Shell  or  Shield  from 

heat  or  shower ; 

But  the  ordinance  of  Mercy,  when  were  placed  the  Cherubim 

At  the  gates  of  Eden,  and  our  parents,  in  that  mournful 

hour, 

•  7 

Enter’d  first  the  waste  of  thorns,  first  knew  the  smiling 

skies  to  lower : 

Holy  ground,  where  Jacob  slumber’d  ;  saw  the  Angels  go 
and  come  : 

Tent  or  dwelling  near  the  tabernacle  of  Jehovah’s  power, 

Where  we  make,  and  worship  daily,  with  our  children,  as  we 
roam, 

Winding  through  this  wilderness,  slowly  traveling  to  the 
promis’d  home : 

X. 

Sacred  fold,  where  youth,  protected  from  the  lion,  wolf  and 
leopard, 

Meekly  trusting,  loving,  fearing  the  paternal  will  and 

power, 

Hears  the  call,  and  learns  to  follow  lovingly  the  heavenly 
Shepherd : 

Dear  tradition,  of  the  olden  speaking  every  vocal  bower  ; 

2 


X 


10 


Love  and  tenderness  departed  looking  every  tearful  flower  : 
Palm  and  fountain  in  the  desert,  whence  the  heated  sands  we 
roam ; 

Whither  for  refreshing  weary  we  return :  God’s  blessed 

dower : 

Pledge  and  token  of  the  peerless,  priceless  heritage  to  come  : 
Omen  of  enduring  substance ;  symbol  of  eternal  home. 

XI. 

Lightly  o’er  Colonus  rolled  the  quiet  waves  of  ripening 
years, 

Tinging  hue  and  lustre  in  the  ruddy  cheek  and  raven 

hair : 

Still  he  sees  the  mountain  sunset,  still  the  sounding  ocean 
hears, 

Musing  in  the  tender  twilight  under  antique  maples 

there. 

Of  the  changes  and  the  chances  of  the  world  he  had  his 

share : 

Children,  come  from  God,  to  God  returning  early,  left  their 
traces 

Round  the  bosom’s  living  fountains ;  footprints  of  their 

beauty  rare 

On  the  stainless  lilies  ;  sweet  memorials  of  their  cherub  faces 
Where  the  loveliness  of  sunlight  and  of  moonlight  soft 
embraces, 


XII. 

In  the  smiling  pinks  and  pansies,  in  the  lone  complaining 
brooks, 

In  melodious  warbling  o’er  their  dreamless  slumber  in  the 

grave, 

The  remembrance  of  their  voices  and  their  sinless  lives  and 
looks : 

Children,  not  so  favour’d  haply,  bidden  to  remain  and 

brave 


11 


Trouble’s  dark  and  tangled  woodlands,  and  temptation’s 

perilous  wave, 

Grew  to  comely  sons  and  daughters,  giving  wondrous 
strength  and  grace — 

Giving  to  the  household  what  paternal  love  from  heaven 

would  crave  : 

Sinking  by  their  lonely  worship,  meekly,  in  one  warm 
embrace, 

Nature,  neighbors,  hearth  and  altar,  home  and  God’s  still 

dwelling  place. 

XIII. 

But  whate’er  of  change  and  chances,  rolling  ’neatli  the  feet 
of  God, 

Further  and  yet  further  fell  their  billowy  forces  from  the 

heart ; 

Sprinkling  only  harmless  spray,  where  often  waves  had  lash’d 
the  sod ; 

Multiplying  peace  and  pouring  softer  balm  on  every  smart ; 
Giving  life  a  mellower  coloring,  hues  above  the  power  of 

art ; 

Making  home  the  dearer  in  its  mosses,  and  its. deepening 
brown ; 

Eloquently  telling,  what  no  common  language  can  impart, 
How  that  home-life  is  the  true  life, — quiet  seed-time  of 

renown, 

With  an  earnest  of  the  harvest,  Hopes  of  an  unfading  crown  : 

XIV. 

Telling  that  there  is  in  listless  leisure,  hunting  pleasure 
brief ; 

That  there  is  in  endless  seeking,  restless  roving  to  be  blest, 
Less  of  dignity  and  gladness,  more  of  labour,  care  and 
grief, 

Than  in  common  toil  and  suffering  of  the  lowliest  home 


12 


Telling  lofty  truth,  in  nature,  and  the  written  word  confest, 
That  if  action  makes  love  conquer,  art  succeed,  ambition 
climb, 

There  is  sacred  strength  in  stillness,  and  majestic  might  in 

rest ; 

That  if  motion  hath  its  beauty,  its  necessity,  and  time, 

There  is  grandeur  in  the  tranquil ;  in  repose  the  true 
sublime. 


XV. 

Hark,  the  gale  upon  the  mighty  deep  dark  rolling  !  Through 
the  night, 

Forward  moves  the  storm,  loud  speaking,  wing’d  with 

blackness,  plumed  with  fire, 

Madly  walking  the  proud  billows,  stepping  on  their  fury 
white : 

O’er  the  crisped  edges,  down  the  darkness  of  abysses  dire. 

Peril  frantic  flees,  entangled  in  her  terrible  attire. 

Lo,  the  morn,  the  rosy,  breathless  morn,  is  moving  o’er  the 
deep ! 

Silence  hears  afar  the  still,  small  music  of  her  holy  lyre  : 

Art  thou  there,  Almighty,  that  thy  seas  this  glorious  Sabbath 
keep  ? 

How  divine  the  stillness  of  the  oceap  !  How  sublime  the 
sleep  ! 


XVI. 

Hark,  the  rash  tornado  in  the  temples  of  unchanging  green  ! 
Roaring,  bow  their  leafy  battlements,  and  bend  the 

rustling  towers  ; 

Crash  the  countless  arches,  snap  the  column,  massy  pillars 
lean  ; 

Through  the  mazy  aisles,  upon  the  smoke  and  thunder  of 

the  showers, 


13 


Wild  confusion,  thousand-footed,  follows ;  shattering  ruin 

scours. 

Lo,  the  calm !  along  the  firmament  how  beautiful  her  feet ! 
Passing  beautiful  upon  the  peaceful  woods  the  shining 

hours ! 

Waters  in  the  still  magnificence  their  solemn  cymbals  beat ; 
Solitude  and  awful  gloom  their  silent  psalm  of  rest  repeat. 

XVII. 

What  in  all  this  tumult  is  there,  what  in  these  terrific  throes, 
But  the  passion  and  the  labour  with  the  tranquil  to  be  blest? 
Thus  all  deep-most  voices  ever  sound  the  grandeur  of  repose, 
And  all  mighty  motions  magnify  the  excellence  of  rest. 
Sober  wings,  in  silence  folded,  safety  find  in  secret  nest ; 
Fast  the  plumy  ostrich  o’er  the  desert  from  the  Arab  speeds  ; 
Brilliant  pinions  on  the  breezes  tempt  the  arrow  to  the 

breast ; 

Feeds  the  timid  hare  in  covert,  straying  o’er  the  lea  she 
bleeds. 

Of  the  saving  health  of  stillness  nature  endless  lecture 
reads. — 


XVIII. 

Endless  lecture,  that  the  beauty  of  all  being  upon  earth, — 
That  the  rare  perfection  of  all  life  and  effort  here  below, 
Flourish  in  the  sacred  calmness  of  some  central  heart  and 
hearth ; 

In  the  sweet  sereneness  of  the  genial  dwelling  bud  and 

blow  ; — 

That  all  restlessness  is  but  impatience  perfect  rest  to 

know  ; — 

That  confusion  fades  in  order  as  to  water  fades  the  foam  ; — 
That  all  discontent  and  longing,  and  all  hasting  to  and  fro, 
All  unsettling  of  old  feelings,  all  farewells  afar  to  roam, 

Is  but  hot  excitement  in  the  hunt  for  some  completer  home. 


14 


XIX. 

Look,  New  England,  westward !  Lo,  thy  stalwart  sons  and 
rosy  daughters 

Leave  behind  the  Alleghanies, — far  and  forward  speed 

amain, — 

Take  the  rivers,  mighty  rivers, — furrow  fields  of  emerald 
waters, — 

Search  the  winding  vallies, — wander  over  grassy  slope  and 

plain, — 

Pierce  the  forest, — wake  the  solitude,  and  break  its  gloomy 

reign, — 

Dot  the  verdant,  changeless  billows  of  the  prairie,  boundless, 
lone ; — 

Red  Apaches,  fleet  Camanches,  wheel  upon  their  wild 

domain, 

Wheel,  and  flee  before  them, — still  beyond  await  them  waste 
unknown : 

Virgin  empires,  climates,  all  the  vast,  wide  continent  they 
own. 


XX. 

Tell  me  wherefore  all  this  movement?  Why  this  eager, 
restless  range? 

Merely  for  the  love  of  sowing,  do  they  sow  the  fruitless  field  ? 

Merely,  0  romantic  multitudes,  the  appetite  for  change  ? 

Or  by  some  mysterious  impulse  driven,  by  some  curse 

defiled, 

Hating  home  and  country,  do  they  flee,  like  Judah’s 

deathless  child  ? 

Tell  me  by  what  potent  spirit  prompted  ?  by  what  fire  possest  ? 

By  what  hope  inspired,  enkindled?  by  what  glittering 

prize  beguil’d  ? 

’Tis  the  sleepless  passion  for  some  lasting,  some  more  perfect 
rest : 

Happier  dwellings,  some  fair  Paradise  about  the  golden  west. 


15 


XXI. 

So  serenely  the  pure  home-life  lived  Colonus,  till  the  thought 
Was  no  more  a  startling,  but  a  welcome  thought,  that  he 

was  old. 

Counted  he  his  locks  their  whiteness  from  some  coming 
glories  caught, 

As  the  mountains  catch  their  paleness,  and  the  clouds  their 

early  gold, 

From  the  splendours  which  behind  Atlantic  waves  their 

gates  unfold : 

From  some  fast  approaching  stillness  came  the  calmness  of  his 
breast, — 

Came  the  sweetness  of  all  nature,  that  calm  sweetness  all 

untold, 

In  the  breaking  of  the  morning,  in  the  twilight  of  the  west, 
Showing  to  the  soul  and  senses  symptoms  of  immortal  rest. 

XXII. 

So  Colonus  lived  serenely,  lived  sublimely,  till  he  felt 

All  the  fullness  of  the  blessing  of  that  calm  New  England 

home  ; — 

Till  he  felt,  that,  if  the  Angels  dwell  among  us,  there  they 
dwelt, 

And  come  hither,  bright  and  fragrant  from  God’s  presence 

there  they  come  ; 

Waiting  in  the  stillness  motionless,  and  in  the  silence  dumb  ; 
Shedding  lustre  in  the  wine  cup,  radiance  on  the  nuptial 
guest ; 

Sprinkling  babes  with  soft  effulgence,  joyous  youth  with 

rosy  bloom : 

Touching  with  celestial  brightness  tenderly  the  mourners 
breast, 

When  they  gently  take  the  parting  spirit  to  its  peaceful  rest. 


16 


XXIII. 

So  Colonus  lived  serenely,  lived  divinely,  till  he  slept ; 

Going  out  upon  a  tide  of  love  into  the  awful  night. 

Stately  men  and  graceful  women  o’er  his  placid  features  wept, 
Joyful  in  the  trust,  that  he  with  Christ  was  walking, 

clothed  in  white  ; 

Waiting  with  departed  saints,  and  resting  in  eternal  light. 
In  the  ground  they  laid  him,  looking  for  that  perfect  life  to 
come ; 

Looking  for  that  final  coming,  coming  terrible  and  bright. 
When  the  sleeping  bodies  of  the  faithful  quit  the  tranquil 
tomb, 

And  undying  rise  with  glory  to  one  everlasting  home. 

XXIY. 

Far  away  in  fair  New  England,  on  the  gently  sloping  hills, 
Stands  the  dwelling  of  Colonus,  deep  embower’d  in  maple 

shades  ' 

Overlooking  lands  ancestral,  lilied  ponds,  and  glittering  rills  ; 
Pines,  and  arching  elms  and  orchards,  folding  in  the 

fragrant  glades. 

Gather  they  from  time  to  time,  the  fairest  of  New  England 

maids ; 

Coming  to  the  olden  home,  and  keeping  jocund  holiday  : 

In  their  looks  are  health  and  pleasure,  grace  upon  their 

'  glossy  braids : 

Rosy  faces,  silvery  voices,  round  the  tables,  out  at  play, 

Make  the  time  melodious,  blooming,  make  the  hours  the 
hours  of  May. 


V 


IT 


XXV. 

Cherish,  0  New  England,  cherish  ever  these  thy  rural  homes. 
Garnished  by  their  velvet  meadows,  by  their  broad  embowering 

trees  : 

Leave  to  those  who  love  them,  who  revere  and  love,  these 
happy  domes : 

Let  their  childhood  see  the  daisies  ;  smell  the  clover  of  the 

leas ; 

Look  from  out  the  mountain  windows ;  play  along  the 

breaking  seas  ; 

Feel  the  stillness  of  the  Lords-Day;  blossoms  pluck  the 
graves  above  ; 

Twine  their  memories  with  the  winding,  willowy  brooks, 

the  birds  and  bees : 

Round  the  festive  fire  be  Fancy,  Mirth,  Affection,  interwove  : 
Leave,  with  home,  the  love  of  home  and  homestead  :  all  is 
less  than  love. 

XXVI. 

Cherish  we  the  Christain  home,  the  old  New  England  home 
forever  ! 

Ever  live  its  true  idea  !  On  the  heart  its  picture  wear  ! 
Perish  all  the  precious  grace  and  lovely  fashion  of  it  never  ! 
0  to  joy  and  sorrow  sacred,  consecrate  to  love  and  prayer, 
Lose  we  not  the  inspirations  of  its  pure  and  peaceful  air  ! 
Nature’s  genial  inspirations,  nature  in  her  breadth  and  bloom  ; 
But,  with  rein  upon  the  spirit  strong  the  restless  world  to 

dare, 

Faithful,  fearless  in  the  tempest,  patient,  hopeful  in  the  gloom, 
Look  for  fields  and  shades  immortal,  and  the  home  beyond 
the  Tomb. 


& 


. 


